


Yesterday

by CompletelyCreative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Fandom-Songs Writing Challenge, M/M, Ok this is just sad, Teenagers, fswc, im sorry, kind of????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyCreative/pseuds/CompletelyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel always knew too much about the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm sorry this is just plain like sad bUT it's kind of happy at the end??? idk man sorry
> 
> Day 3 of my Fandom-Songs 30 Day Challenge found [here](http://scarlettcharlie.tumblr.com/post/120572418981/fandom-songs-writing-challenge)
> 
> This ficlet is based off of the song 'Candour' by Neck Deep.

Seven

In nights of the summer that were too warm to sleep in, tan hands would always drag freckled fingers out when they weren’t supposed to be awake. They would run behind the houses, under the trees, to a pond that jumped with fish and reflected the stars. Stones would skip across the water, disrupting small waves, and laughter would fill quiet air. They would fall asleep in each others’ innocent eyes, and wake up early enough to see the dew on their eyelashes.

 

Ten

Fishing poles swung against thin, crisp air that teased at winter break. Two pairs of shoes crunched against dry leaves, running around a pond that baited fish and shone with the clouds. A black-haired boy caught the hood of his blond friend, and they tumbled down onto each other, with jabs and screams of, ‘you’re it!’ and ‘you’re it!’ They rolled onto their backs, arms intertwined, and squinted at the white sky. The blond-haired boy told an imaginative story about the clouds in the sky, and the clouds in the water. The black-haired boy listened with intent and wonder; he wanted to know everything about the stars.

 

Thirteen

Mothers scolded at ice skates that scraped across a frozen-white pond on the first day that it snowed. A green-eyed teen kicked his way through constant circles, laughing and slipping, while a blue-eyed wonder looked on from the safe snow. The freckled boy was gesturing to the other, yelling from across the pond, ‘C’mon, Cas! Come and get me!’ It was always replied with a ‘no way,’ followed by a ‘why not?’, and then blue eyes looked up and sighed. Green eyes watched soft flakes melt into black hair, and skated over. They laid down on the soft-falling snow together, shoulder touching shoulder. Green eyes always watched blue eyes, and blue eyes always watched the white sky. Eventually, he said, ‘A human would have to have hollow bones and a wingspan three times their height.’ ‘Why would you want to know that?’ Blue eyes looked to green eyes. 

‘I want to fly away, Dean.’ The snow muffled their silence, before green eyes blinked.

‘Well, don’t fly too far.’

 

Sixteen

Freezing rain struck a thawing pond that mixed with the mud of dirty boots that hopped the fence in the middle of school. A leather jacket and a cashmere sweater clung to skin, along with the rain, and the tears, and hands and lips. Blue eyes were closed against green, and two boys grabbed and clung to each other in an effort to hold on to nothing urgent. There were smiles on lips as tan hands intertwined with freckled fingers, and they stepped on their shoes and fell to the leaves, leather on top of cashmere. Green eyes got lost in blue, and blue eyes gazed into the sky of green, and the black-haired boy started laughing, biting his own lip, but keeping eyes fixed on green. Eyes squinted, with the question, ‘what is it, Cas? What’s so funny?’ And the black-haired boy smiled again and shook his head. 

‘I’m flying, Dean.’

He knew everything about the stars, yet he had never seen the ones in green eyes.

 

Eighteen

Water flooded a dried-out pond, just as the tears of a blond-haired boy slipped out of his eyes. He was standing at the water’s edge, cigarette smoke drifting over the waves. He was all alone. It happened the day before. Blue Eyes had closed yesterday. Why, the freckled boy could not bring to answer himself. He yearned, with cigarette smoke and flooding waters, to quiet his mind, to be done, to be gone. But he couldn’t. Green eyes looked up into the Midnight Sky, but there were no stars out that night. Blue Eyes were always drawn to the light above. He always knew too much about the stars.

He should have told him that he loved him yesterday.

 

Thirty

A man with old green eyes and freckles on the tips of his ears woke up on the dock of a shining pond. Beside him, a fishing pole was propped, and the fish swam beneath his feet. Much had happened in life. A roadtrip, a little brother, ghosts, demons... angels. He had an old burned mark on his left shoulder, and he never had the guts to ask the angel who gave it to him, why he had the same face as his high school sweetheart. But on the pond, as he sat, the angel stood next to him. Green eyes could barely look him in the eye.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Dean.’ Green eyes filled with old tears. He could only ask one question.

‘Why... do you look like my best friend?’ Blue eyes looked to the water.

‘I am your best friend.’ The man bit his lip.

‘No, my best friend was Cas--’

‘My name is Castiel.’

‘And he wasn’t an Angel--’

‘I’ve always been an Angel. I just...’ blue eyes looked up at the sky.

‘I finally learned to fly.’

Freckled lips didn’t move to say anything, or do anything, and green eyes didn’t look anywhere but the water. It was no use, though -- the pond was as blue as his eyes. Neither of  
them said anything, and dress shoes began to walk down the dock, away from the water. Green eyes closed.

‘I love you.’ The footsteps stopped, and suddenly there was a tan hand pulling freckled fingers up, and on the edge of green and blue.

‘It’s said that Angels aren’t capable of emotion, especially love. I was always unhappy with that statement.’ His eyes were the color of the pond, of the sky, of their tears. ‘But if it is even comparable to the feeling I have when I look into your eyes, and when I see the stars on your skin... then I am content, Dean Winchester.

‘I am drawn to your light.’


End file.
